Love for a Child
by Canadino
Summary: Because it seemed that all stereotypical villains and bad guys or suicidal maniacs had horrible families. But he wasn't a stereotypical villain and his family hadn't been horrible...comparitively.


**Disclaimer: If Shaman King were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.**

Background music: Love for a Child - Jason Mraz

**Minimal fluff 09!**

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Love for a Child

_What about taking this empty cup and filling it up _

_with a little bit more of innocence, I haven't had enough, _

_it's probably because when you're young, it's okay to be easily ignored._

_I'd like to believe it was all about love for a child._

The annual beginning-of-summer bash was starting in front of the European house. The owner of said house was sitting in the kitchen by himself, staring out the bay window onto the front yard. Sighing softly as he knew the whole thing would soon spiral out of control, Lyserg Diethyl downed the coffee in his cup. He would need that caffeine rush to get all his stupid friends out of trouble later on that night. Horo was (as usual) spraying everyone with hose water, although he was staying out of Anna Kyoyama's way. Poor Manta was just getting _soaked_.

Glancing at the car which had brought all these Japanese visitors to his residence in London, Lyserg watched the car fog up. That Yoh. Couldn't keep his paws off Ren, could he? Smirking a bit, Lyserg brought the cup back up to his lips, despite the fact that it was already empty.

He knew he should join the festivities, lest he fall victim to Horo's taunts of being a 'loner'. Not that he really minded. As Lyserg went out to the screen door to yell at the stupid Usui to stop spraying passing cars, he passed the picture that he had scavenged a few years back from his old, burnt-down house, a portrait of Jesus and the twelve disciples. He wondered if Jesus considered his chums to be annoyances. He wouldn't be surprised if Peter turned out to be an irritating prat.

His editor called later that night to ruin the festivities. Lyserg had to retire early to finish his manuscript, entrusting the wellbeing of the house to Anna, who nodded icily. She didn't seem too thrilled to be there; she wasn't much of a party person. Lyserg could understand a little – if this was how his friends partied, he was _never_ inviting them over again.

Call him metro (when in fact he was all for open-mindedness), but he liked writing in the tub. Of course, he might have gotten some stuff done if Hao didn't barge in every other ten minutes. That boy/man (depended on your take on him) didn't know the limits of friends-with-benefits. Honestly. The house was much too hectic so he locked himself in the bathroom and waited until he heard Anna call through the door that everyone was smashed enough that they had all passed out and she was going to take her sleep time if it was okay with him. He didn't have to answer back as she shuffled to her room, probably toasted with babysitting. By then, the water had turned lukewarm, but he was still scribbling away words like 'screwdriver' and 'potluck' on his legal pad.

Writer's block was a reoccurring theme.

If he knocked his head against the rim of the tub, maybe he would pass out as well and get amnesia. That would be a perfect solution to his problems. And he had issues. He didn't go whining about it to others and he sure as hell wasn't going to keep them inside. He had seen a therapist about his issues and stopped after he had realized where his twistedness came from.

Although Hao had been a factor in said twistedness, he wasn't responsible for the whole picture, as Lyserg had liked to think. His innocence in half the equation had caused the pyro to pull some strings and push some envelopes to gain benefits in their strained relationship.

No…and the answer was so simple and cliché. So horribly cliché. As Lyserg let the tub drain, he crossed out some ideas on the legal pad, which included the main villain to have had a horrible childhood.

Because it seemed that all stereotypical villains and bad guys or suicidal maniacs had horrible families. Either families were abusive or negligent. And although he wanted to think he didn't fall in either category, he had to admit his parents weren't completely saints. They certainly weren't abusive or negligent toward him, but they were at war with each other.

The troubles started even before Hao torched his old place.

His father Liam had practically had his ass delivered to him when he was four, when his mother Jean had discovered that her husband had had an affair behind her back. Earliest he could remember, his parents were always having fights, his father usually taking the defensive. Heated words and violent arguments happened usually after he fell asleep, but no kid could ever sleep through so much yelling.

The two had decided to stay together for Lyserg's sake, but that didn't mean they had to be cordial about it.

Lyserg remembered eating lunch one afternoon during summer holiday and hearing his mother break a window in the next room and hear some profanity before the argument became hushed. His mother had a horrid temper and she took it out on her husband. He deserved it, Lyserg figured. Liam was stupid enough to let his wife in on his affair.

Or was it Jean who had the affair? Lyserg couldn't really remember, as Hao's memory had marked and overrided on his pre-Hao memories so they became obscured. There was no point in discovering who was the one who was unfaithful; he was older now and what happened in the past happened in the past. The main thing was that his father taught him to be a dowser and he had shamanic powers. They were dead now and they couldn't touch him with their memories before the grave. He would make sure he would run from them.

His friends really couldn't walk on hardwood floors without making a sound, but he had been used to them for so long he could nearly float over them. His responsible trait forced him to check at everyone's door to see that they were still in one piece. Yoh and Ren were sleeping side-by-side (in different futons, thank god), Manta was as far from Chocolove as possible – the comedian wasn't funny in how he thrashed around in his sleep. Anna's door was locked so he floated on to his room. To his disappointment, Hao was already sleeping in his bed.

"Get the hell out of my room. I told you you were sharing with Choco and Manta." Lyserg exercised no self control as he kicked Hao in the square of the back. He had been fine with abusing and attacking Hao before and now that they were on more friendly notes, he saw no reason to stop. "Get out or I'll make you."

"Alright, alright, asshole, I'm leaving."

He wasn't sure why he hadn't gone the whole nine yards with Hao yet. It wasn't like he was a prude or anything. After his parents died, he had been shipped off to his grandfather, who raised him to his best abilities. He wouldn't lie that he hadn't liked being spoiled by the rest of his family, with them lavishing him with goodies on his birthday and Christmas as if that could just erase the fact that his parents had died. He was focused on revenge, but that was really only for show; secretly, he was (shame tried to attack his system but he was already apathetic to its offense) relieved that he no longer had to live through his parents' never-ending fights and tense atmosphere.

He wasn't the spoiled brat type. When he could, he left his grandfather's place and drifted around London, falling in with the LSD addicts and the easy types; he had been in sticky spots before but Morphine had managed to steer him away from the deadly ones. So no, he was by no means a prude. He was far from it, but age had taught him better and he was weaning from the days of old.

Oh, he was just screwed. He had fifty more pages to write and his damn editor had paged him yet again. Did that man ever sleep? Asshole. Taking scotch from his secret stash behind his cabinet, Lyserg took a drink before settling to write again. What was he supposed to be writing again…oh, a brief autobiography or something along those stupid lines. The lines were becoming a bit blurry…he was a bit sauced up even before his five-hour bath.

Screw it. Letting his pen run crazy lines and circles over the page, he closed his eyes.

He supposed his parents were just showing tough love. They'd never told him they were considering a divorce once he was old enough to understand it. He didn't think they'd ever tell him, really. He supposed he really deserved to know, that it was really okay that he and Morphine had found the divorce papers hidden in his parents room the day before his birthday. Wonderful birthday present, really.

When the house burnt down, he never saw those legal papers again.

"I've been cheated out of my childhood," Lyserg muttered aloud, scribbling the words on the pad. "My parents were constantly at each others necks and gave me the façade that they were still on good terms with each other. Good parents know what to tell their children and what not to tell their children. Why tell them something they don't need to know?

"I'd like to think it was love."

Owari

Note: Hmm…different. Much different than I'm used to. Less fluff/stereotypical ukeness does not mean dark, does it? Lyserg's strong through – he's not a crybaby and he's not going to take pity from anyone else. That's the new Lyserg, and I hope that was personified in this fic. Review…


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